


Change My Mind

by valdyra



Series: Tales of Interest [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Swap, Canon-Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, M/M, Rating May Change, aka i still don't know how overwatch tech works and this fic is probably impossible, incredibly slow to update but I PROMISE ILL FINISH IT, mostly blind!jack, probably ooc im still pretty bad at writing, symmetra's teleporter abuse, tags will be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdyra/pseuds/valdyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a training exercise testing Symmetra's new teleporters, a small Talon team strikes Overwatch. After a mishap when both Jack and Gabriel fall into one of the teleporters at the same time, they discover a far more literal meaning to the phrase "walk a mile in someone else's shoes".</p><p>or, a good old body swap fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Snow crunched under his feet, the air still and the buildings quiet. It would have been peaceful if it was natural. As it was, the training simulation's reality was almost too much, colors too bright and smells too intense. It set Jack on edge, despite the fact that he'd organised the exercise himself.

 

“Teleporters are online. Begin the simulation.” came a voice through his communication line. Satya, her name was Satya. She’d been quite friendly toward him the past few weeks.

 

That was all this was. A simulation, a test of equipment for her new teleporters. They would stay deactivated until a member of Overwatch came close enough. Once in range the teleporter would open for the agent, letting them through and closing the door behind them. Safe enough, and it'd prevent most Talon agents from using the tech.

 

Except for the ones who used to be Overwatch agents. Like Gabe.

 

Going over the events of the month prior in his mind was almost disorienting. None of this was actually happening. How could it be? He’d wake up in a few moments down some back alley among the rats and forgotten belongings. Jack had traveled into the past, met himself, talked to himself. Met Gabriel, still young and bright, still alive. Found out about Reaper, how this whole time he had been grieving for a man who was still alive. Sure, Gabe wasn’t the same, but neither was Jack.

 

Then coming back to Overwatch. Starting over, replaying the same story thirty years on. He wasn’t sure if he could do this again. It had been hard enough the first time. How many omnics had he killed, how many people left to die for greater stakes? Gabe had wanted to go back and help them, he remembered; save villages that were too close to a god program’s base of operations or make sure a teammate made it out alive. That wasn’t an option, as far as Jack was concerned. The loss of a few lives for the extinction of god programming had seemed an equal enough trade at the time. Looking back, now that Jack knew it was starting over, their deaths had been in vain. It set something off in him, guilt and uneasiness. Their deaths were on his back.

 

Tracer had said nothing could change, but Jack wasn’t sure. The first few days had been jarring for him, faces too old for the fresh memories in his head. None of them knew whose face hid under the mask, but it was clear enough that they knew who Soldier76 was. His reunion with them had been soured. Ana’s eyes were cold as she examined him, voice controlled, too wary. Reinhardt’s mischievous smile had not been present, McCree had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Torbjorn had been too quiet, Winston had taken his glasses off and leaned back on his haunches. Mercy had dropped the glass she was holding. Clearly, there was something he’d missed, a section of the past he had in fact altered. Not that he had any memories besides the ones he had when he’d gone back in the first place.

 

Tinny gunfire sounded from the other side of the alleyway where he stood. The simulation was easy enough to tell from reality, if by noise alone. Audio was canned, not quite as perfect as the visual, and the Talon agents that jumped him as he stepped into the open were stiff. The pulse rifle knocked out of his hands, he whipped the pistol at his thigh out of its holster and unloaded a quick few rounds into their bodies. The sounds of bullets ripping through flesh was familiar enough to him, though not pleasant, and he instinctively weaved out of the way as the agents fell to the ground. Were they real people, these agents would be dead. Jack retrieved his pulse rifle.

 

“76!” screamed a voice in his comm. “Lucio’s cornered, can you help him out?”

 

“If I can find him,” he growled, lengthening his stride and ducking around a corner. Follow the sound of music. Easy enough.

 

More gunfire. An explosion. Screaming. Jack was losing himself in the rhythm of war. Everything was too predictable. Someone caught his leg and his response was a hard punch in someone's face. More yelling, guns too close, Jack’s hands were too tight on his rifle when he swung it around to knock more people down. He heard an omnic, beeping and whirring, and suddenly Jack was in overdrive. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

 

His fists were too quick and he lost the rifle again. The pistol was on fire, too hot down the barrel as endless bullets found their marks. Jack was yelling, couldn’t see the omnics, where were the Bastion units - -

 

“76! Hey!”

 

Hands on his arm, pulling him back, and for a second he felt guilty for thinking Lucío was Gabe.

 

“They’re dead. You don’t need to keep shooting.”

 

Jack paused, trying to calm himself down.

 

“I heard omnics, I - ”

 

“Bastion’s on our side.”

 

But if the god program got close, they’d still be at risk. How many omnics were there? He’d counted two, both of them too powerful for Jack to be comfortable. God, where was Gabe when he was needed? Where was his level head, precise thinking? He’d always been the strategist. Jack had just absorbed bullet fire while Gabe ran the show behind the scenes.

 

Lucío sighed, moving his weight between his skates. “This isn’t real. Just keep reminding yourself it’s not real.”

 

Before he could reply another explosion sounded. Jack felt the ground move under his feet, heard screaming and gunshots not bottled by computerization.

 

“That was real,” he commented, reloading his pistol.

 

“Sure was,” Lucío agreed calmly, a soft beat kicking up as he glided forward.

 

Jack followed, slower but just as determined. No rifle meant this was going to be so much harder than it needed to be. How had he been dumb enough to lose it?

 

Crackling in his earpiece, barely recognizable as Ana. “- anyone hear me? I’m on the roof, Reaper’s - ”

 

Gabe. Gabe was here.

 

“On my way!” he roared, vaulting over chained gates into a fire escape and taking steps two at a time. His heart was already beating too fast. This didn't mean anything; there wasn't enough time to talk to Gabriel, spend time with him while bullets grazed their heads and grenades exploded behind them.

 

On reaching the rooftops he could easily spot them, Ana struggling to get away as Gabriel’s bullet spray ripped into the space where she’d just been. Jack’s clip unloaded into his shoulder and the mercenary stopped, sacrificing precious seconds to examine his wounds - seconds Ana used to scramble away. Jack was barely aware of what he was doing, tackling Gabe and realizing his own mistake as they lost their balance and fell backward off the roof.

 

Gabe broke his fall, Jack landing flatly on top of him with a cloud of thick smoke. Clawed hands pushed him off, quickly followed by grumbling and cursing.

 

“The fuck was that?” he hissed, a mix between anger and laughter.

 

“Nice to see you too,” Jack mumbled, leaning on the alley wall as he dragged himself to his feet.

 

Under the mask, his voice was distorted. Too malicious, too hateful, but when he spoke Jack could still hear Gabe, offended at Jack’s action. “You friggin’ shot me.”

 

He tensed the muscles in his arm, stiffly closing his hand. Skin swirled and the remains of bullets dropped to the ground, falling through him. He glanced back up and Jack looked away.

 

Someone was trying to talk through his comm, garbled and distorted.

 

“ - t’s Mercy, somebody, please, Widowmaker’s hit m - ”

 

As far as Jack could tell his biotic field generator was intact. If he could just get to Mercy quick enough, set off now -

 

He started forward, but Gabe’s hand caught his shoulder.

 

“Oh, no,” he said, a smile in his voice. “You don’t get to shoot and walk away.”

 

Sensing a challenge, Jack shot back. “Stop me.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

His starting punch was quick and had Jack not been expecting it he would have almost certainly felt it hit. With a few breaths Jack was seventeen again, sparring with Gabe before lunch break. The square of his shoulders before he punched. The exhale as the fist hit its mark. All of it so methodical, linear. Jack stepped back and around, his boot's heel landing roughly in the small of Gabe's back. He stumbled forward at the extra force and Jack pressed down a laugh.

 

Gabe turned around and dragged Jack out, claws swiping at his chest, aching to reopen wounds that had barely healed. Jack had seen it before, stepping back nimbly. Without the weight of his rifle he was faster, but the pistol could only do so much. Gabe lunged forward again before Jack could reload the thing, frantically clawing at fabric and skin alike. Jack took him by the wrist and wrenched it up and toward him, twisting his hand the wrong way and hitting him hard in that soft space just below the armpit. He wasn’t sure, but Jack swore he heard something crack as he forced Gabe’s arm back down, again the wrong way, and brought his elbow down on Gabe’s back.

 

He moved his knees out of the way as Gabriel crumpled, too many blows concentrated over a short time. Jack had a few seconds to take in his surroundings, gunfire and screaming and men falling left and right, before Gabe pulled him into a scuffle again. This time they were moving too quickly. Jack could barely see where he was going.

 

Their fists were almost playful now. Mocking, each punch withdrawn before it could do any damage. Jack was sure Gabe was smiling underneath the mask, but to be fair he was doing the same. The fight around them was quickly losing relevance. This was just a simulation, and beyond that, an excuse to be with Gabriel. He pulled at Gabe’s cowl, an action quickly followed by hands closing over Jack's own and roughly pulling him forward. Their chests were touching, masks a hair’s breadth apart.

 

“Got you,” Gabriel whispered, triumphant at his apparent win against Jack.

 

“Not quite.”

 

Jack leaned his weight forward. It set their balance off and Gabe stumbled back, Jack taking a chance and forcing harder. Reaper still had his hand, still held him too close, but that didn’t mean he was helpless. If he could move them backward too quickly and trip Gabe up Jack could pin him, hold him down and -

 

“76!”

 

Mercy. Blood smeared up her chestpiece, hiding behind a wall as shots broke through the air. Both Jack and Gabe were out in the open, sitting ducks, and while Gabe would be safe from Widowmaker it was only a matter of time until he was shot.

 

Gabe was tripping over. Jack could hear whirring, couldn’t see what was happening. Both of them were moving too quickly. Mercy screamed his name again. Someone else was talking, Gabe’s voice but somehow indecipherable.

 

Clicking sounds and an oval of light appeared, just visible behind Gabriel. Satya’s teleporter! It must have detected Jack approaching.

 

“Gabe - ”

  
His warning was wasted. Just as the words left his mouth Gabe lost his balance and truly tripped backwards. The teleporter came up to meet them, and Jack hoped there weren’t any Overwatch agents on the other end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please call me out if my spanish is wrong, my translator isn't available at the moment!!

Gabriel’s vision was blurred. Someone was screaming at him, right in his ear. He felt dizzy.

 

“¿Que chingados?” he mumbled to himself, tongue heavy and body stiff.

 

He looked around, trying to get his bearings, only to find the world around him painted in dulled crimson. What the hell was this? Where was he, what was going on?

 

Bullets screeched past his head and he instinctively rolled sideways, pulling his legs up and ducking behind a section of fallen roofing. In the few seconds between the last set of bullets and the next round of yelling, he realized the hands in front of him weren’t his own. Snugly-fitted plain leather, broad across the palm, skinny fingers. Jack’s hands. These were Jack’s hands.

 

Taking a moment to check himself out, he noted he wasn’t just wearing Jack’s gloves. His coat hadn’t been sewn up properly, four obvious lines still marking the fabric. His pants, scuffed at the knee and pushed into Jack’s boots. The fuck was he doing in Jack’s clothes?

 

With a clipped breath, Gabriel reached a hand up to the unfamiliar mask on his face and undid the clasps, as gently as he could. He blinked at the hard light as he opened his eyes, waiting for them to refocus.

 

They didn’t.

 

Gabriel furrowed his brow and squinted, trying to bring even the ground in front of him to clarity. He could barely tell where the concrete ended and his shoes began. Hesitantly, he held the visor over his face again and watched crystal focus return to him. Almost in a test, he moved it away and back a second time, watching the stark difference in quality.

 

Whatever the issue was with his eyesight, it could be dealt with later. He refastened the mask and stood, firing back at the sniper and ducking back before the return shots could hit. A spray of angry fire landed just in front of him, destroying the device that he and Jack had fallen through. The oval construct spluttered and died and Gabe peered out from behind his hiding spot, scanning for the sniper.

 

There! A rifle barrel peeking out from the top floor of a building. It wasn’t too far to jump to, either. Taking a deep breath, Gabriel waited for the numbing feeling which accompanied his repositioning, stepping out into the open so as to ease the transition.

 

Nothing happened. People were still yelling through his ear, into a comm he didn’t know he had. Bullets still raced past him. Somebody tackled him and forced him back behind debris. He pushed them off, drawing Jack’s gun and pointing it between the man’s eyes -

 

“The hell’re you doing - ”

 

McCree. Older, scruffier, smelling of cigar smoke and bad cologne, but it was still him. Gabriel'd recognize that dumb hat and toothy smile anywhere.

 

“Back off,” he hissed, pushing the gun into McCree’s forehead. The kid pushed it off with his metal hand, moving to his knees and staring at Gabe, disgruntled.

 

“I’m on your side,” grumbled McCree. “What the hell are you doing out there? You got a death wish?”

 

Gabriel holstered the gun. “You’re not with Talon.”

 

“You’re right, I’m not,” McCree shot back, his accent words slurring together. “That’s the point.”

 

He picked up Peacekeeper again and held the gun at arm’s length, closing one eye and exhaling slowly as he stood above the debris again. With a single shot, he silenced the sniper fire. Gabe heard the sound of a body falling to the ground. Somehow, the kid’s aim had improved since he’d seen McCree last.

 

“C’mon,” he said, making a motion with his head and offering a hand to Gabe. “Mercy needs your biotic something-or-other.”

 

A thought, unwelcome and impossible, surfaced in the back of his brain. He was wearing Jack’s clothes, Jack’s visor, and now McCree was speaking to him like he _was_ Jack.

 

He took the hand and stood, following the red serape and scuffed hat through the spaces between houses and what Gabe could only assume was the dead. Jack was nowhere to be seen, and now that Gabriel thought about it he hadn't seen the man since he'd woken up. Had he woken, though? There was no memory of falling asleep, or any complete memory of waking. Just existing beside Jack for one moment, and now possibly existing inside Jack.

 

As they moved Gabe searched for a window, a reflective surface to reaffirm that he was still Gabriel, still Reaper, that this was all just some misunderstanding. Puddles of water convinced him otherwise, left by a wall of ice that had been blasted away. The reflection was of Jack, right down to unkempt white hair and too-pale skin.

 

He swore profusely, stopping in his tracks.

 

McCree turned. “What?”

 

How had this happened? Why? If there was a God he must clearly hate Gabriel Reyes, to leave him in Jack fucking Morrison’s body without explanation. Maybe this was a dream, he’d wake up and none of this would be real.

 

“We gotta go - ”

 

Another explosion, too close this time. Sounds of gunfire were lessening. He couldn’t leave with Talon. Not like this, dazed and heavy and tired while McCree led him through the area like he couldn’t do it himself.

 

“Mercy!” yelled the faux cowboy, holding a hand to his ear and making Gabriel jump. “What’s going on, can you see?”

 

He paused. Gabe watched him awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. What could he do? Anything he did, Jack Morrison would be blamed for. Before their little excursion into the past, this would have been an ideal situation, but as it was, he was left in a very particular, very restraining corner. Not only was he organic for the first time in thirty damn years, but he was in a body that would not appreciate him damaging it in any way. If Jack made it back into his own body and figured out Gabe had killed most of Overwatch, he’d likely be a little more than pissed.

 

Was Jack in here with him? Would he sit here and watch someone else pilot his own body, doomed into silence before the foreign mind could escape? Gabe couldn’t hear anything besides his own thoughts. Surely if Jack was in here with him, there’d be some sign. Like an angel on his shoulder or something, telling him not to find the nearest Talon agent and threaten them into fixing him. Or - them. If Jack was here.

 

Gabe stared at the remaining soldiers on the field. An omnic helping a woman in a blue armor suit up - Jesus, was that Fareeha? She’d certainly grown. Genji landed lightly beside her, words Gabriel couldn’t quite hear exchanged between them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked back.

 

“Careful,” said McCree, raising Peacekeeper again and gesturing to one side of the three. Another sniper, just barely visible at all. Professional. Another Talon sniper, if not Widowmaker. Genji, Fareeha and the omnic were safe enough behind a fallen building, but if Gabe took another step forward Jack’s body would be little more than a smear on the ground. How had McCree known she was there?

 

“How did - ”

 

He motioned toward the ground, gun still in hand. “You gotta watch the shadows, not just the walls. And all that stuff about places being too quiet, you know.”

 

So he'd kept learning since he'd left Overwatch. Following McCree’s direction, Gabe noticed a slightly irregular lump in the sun’s shadow through halved buildings. As he watched, it moved slightly, almost propping itself up. Not Widowmaker. She knew better than to move when she was so obviously noticeable.

 

McCree was already on it, another bullet downing the sniper in seconds and dark eyes scanning the area for any other hiding spaces. He spun the gun in his hand, looking back at Gabe and smirking. Two in the span of five minutes.

 

“More’n one bullet means the job don’t get done right,” he said proudly, despite the statement’s utter irrelevance. Still a weird kid, clearly.

 

What would Jack do in this situation? How would he react, left in a body that wasn’t his? Gabriel was beginning to feel more and more wrong as time passed. His body too heavy, too solid, his vision far too red underneath the visor. The way Jack’s weight was balanced on his figure left more weight on his shoulders in a slight hunch, likely from carrying that stupid rifle. He was tired, too. If he was left alone Gabriel could easily sleep for a few hours.

 

“76?”

 

McCree was lighting a cigar. Gunfire had faded. Gabe could hear the whirring of a ship. His ride was leaving, and if there was a Reaper inside, it damn well wasn’t him.

  
This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿que chingados? = what the fuck?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my exams are Done for a while and i can finally update. i am so sorry about this, i knew i shouldn't have started till after they finished. anyway, here you go.

If there was a way Jack thought he’d spend his Monday, it wasn’t standing beside a quiet Widowmaker and trying to hold his breath while Talon agents sat behind him and discussed that new sci-fi film.  _ Hero of my Storm _ , it was called, and their enthusiastic talk made it seem like it was a pretty good movie. If Jack made it out of this situation alive, he’d have to watch it sometime.

 

Every breath he took felt smoggy and dirty, and he had the instinct to cough with each exhale. Smoke was building up in the back of his throat and left a nasty taste in his mouth. He could barely feel most of his body, and there was a constant unpleasant prickling in the parts that he still could. Not to mention feeling almost dizzyingly light. Like there wasn’t any weight to him at all. Jack was slowly coming to hate it. 

 

He’d been fully conscious falling through Satya’s teleporter, feeling himself change while Gabriel had just fallen asleep. Trying to wake him up had set Genji on Jack’s tail. He could barely walk, still trying to get used to transparent steps and bizarre feelings, and already he was in too deep.

 

On the flipside, though, he could see again. Without the visor. For the first time in years Jack was taking in the world around him with eyes that focused on his surroundings, and damn if he wasn’t enjoying it. The detail in Widowmaker’s hair, her eyelashes, the screws on the side of the transport plane. He was reveling in every second.

 

The floor beneath him bucked and Jack nearly fell over. Light shone through the door as it opened into the Talon base. Widowmaker started walking, briskly, and Jack followed with careful steps. He really couldn’t breathe now. People were staring and Jack’s mind raced, wondering if they could tell that an intruder was in their midst. He straightened, squaring his shoulders and imitating what he remembered of Gabriel’s body language. Heavy steps, folded arms. Head raised high and proud.

 

Too preoccupied with pretending to be Gabe, Jack quickly forgot he was in an unfamiliar base. It wasn’t long before he got lost down a long hallway, empty and stagnant. The moment to himself at least gave him time to regroup, letting out a loud sigh and watching Gabe’s smoke fall from his mouth and float sluggishly to the ground. Jack kicked at it, the smog dissipating slowly. His feet were too big. Running too quickly was going to trip him up.

 

Underneath those clawed gloves Gabriel’s hands were just as grey as he remembered, skin closer to the brown of his youth around the scars. As Jack watched, carefully, he could see it moving slightly, changing colors and making his skin seem alive in just the wrong way. His fingers faded into an almost solid black, and when Jack touched a fingertip to his thumb he swore he could feel matter transferring between them. Pushed together like that he couldn’t see the end of the finger and beginning of the thumb, just a silhouette of black, somehow three-dimensional. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Gabe,” he muttered as his fingers began to dissolve, accompanied by a feeling of dull pins and needles. The blackness in the fingertips was slowly moving down onto his palm, and with it he watched his hand slowly dissolve into a smoke that Jack could somehow still feel, still partially direct. He willed it around his head, red and black blurs which belonged to his right hand. He looked back and the blackness was halfway to his elbow, beginning to speed up.

 

He shook his arm. “That’s enough.”

 

The motion sped the process up and Jack felt unease curl in his stomach. He didn’t know how to stop this. Pushing what remained of his arm into the slowly growing cloud of smoke, he closed his eyes and tensed, trying to concentrate on a hand, not his but Gabriel’s. Longer fingers, smaller palm, black fingertips and shifting colors. 

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Widowmaker. Jack’s shoulders bunched up and he whipped around, holding his dissipating arm behind his back.

 

“I’m - ”

 

“Lost again?” she interrupted, raising her eyebrows irritably. “Your sense of direction is atrocious.”

 

Jack paused for a moment, then nodded. Best to keep it simple.

 

She sighed, almost theatrical. “Come.”

 

Her steps were quick, but not rushed. Fast in pace. Jack struggled to keep up in a body he could barely use. His arm was regaining some of its feeling, but as far as he could tell he still didn’t have a hand.

 

“Talon have been concerned about your productivity.”

 

Long exhale. Smoke trailing behind him. This was not a conversation intended for Jack.

 

“Three failed missions. The data, the Gauntlet, and then 76. You’re lucky today was a success, else they would be coming for you right now.”

 

What? Talon had retreated, driven back by Overwatch’s forces.  They had lost.

 

“Success?” he repeated blankly.

 

Widowmaker tutted. “You knew we were a distraction, imbécile. Sombra needed eyes away from the database while she worked. That’s why you were supposed to restrain Winston. Which you did a poor job of.”

 

Jack’s mind was reeling. A trap. There had been too many people, Talon had been too loud. Sent their two best agents at the same time. Of course it had been a set-up. The question wasn’t what Talon had done, but rather what they were trying to prevent Overwatch from figuring out they’d done.

 

He struggled to remember where Gabriel had been in the fight, attempting to form a coherent response. On speaking his voice was too low, undertones distorted through his mask.

 

“I ran into a sniper,” Jack said, trying to sound intimidating.

 

“You should have contacted me,” Widowmaker countered, quick as a bullet. “My purpose is to protect you from enemy snipers, Reyes.”

 

She knew who Gabriel was. Did Talon know? Was he well-known within the organisation? Had he founded it?

 

“But this isn’t about the sniper, is it?” she asked, voice cool and detached all of a sudden. Jack could smell what was coming a mile away.

 

“It’s not about - ”

 

She stopped in front of a door, folding her arms.

 

“It’s not about 76,” he finished, rubbed slightly the wrong way at his own name.

 

“I didn’t mention him,” came the response. Like all of this was rehearsed.

 

Jack opened his mouth to speak again, and she continued over him. “I would have said it was about revenge,” she said, typing a series of numbers on the keypad beside the door. “But I am not surprised.”

 

She took Jack’s hand roughly and pressed it against the identification pad. The door clicked and slid open. Gabriel’s room.

 

“Thanks,” Jack said, stepping around her and trying to smile before realizing the mask wouldn’t show it.

 

She raised an eyebrow, and after a long pause finally responded. “Where’s Gabriel Reyes.”

 

“What?” asked Jack, anxiety sparking in his chest.

 

Smug laughter, barely concealing hostility. “You’re not Reaper. Where is he?”

 

Jack thought for a moment before realization dawned on him. He had no idea where Gabriel, and by extension, his own body were.

 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

 

Another tut. “I would find out,” she said, turning away. “Else the officials will pull it out of your dissected brain.”

 

She began to walk away, still talking.

 

“Aircraft hangar is down the hall to the left. I would start moving now. Before they discover just who is wearing Reyes’ skin, Commander.”

  
Jack huffed, closing the door and staring at the room around him. Was he really that obvious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imbécile = fool/idiot  
> please excuse my terrible widowmaker writing


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to get back into a regular schedule, please bear with me. please let me know if there's any mistakes - i have't read this over as closely as i should.

“Hey, gramps. Wake up.”

 

Gabriel jumped awake, hands coming up to protect himself from a possible attacker. He was greeted with the face of a young girl, triangles painted on her cheeks. Had he fallen asleep? What the hell? 

 

“What?” he grumbled, trying to stand up and quickly falling on his ass. Jack’s weight. He was corporeal now.

 

She snickered. “Lena got some food. Dunno if it’s edible, but I thought you might want some. If you’re finished with your nana-nap.”

 

Running a hand through his hair, Gabriel squinted and looked around. He was still in the loading bay. What had happened? He remembered getting here, sitting down to think about what the hell he was going to do -

 

And then falling asleep. He’d sat back, thinking he could just have a few minutes of rest. He ached. Really ached, right down to his bones. Guess he’d forgotten what it was like to have a body, feeling the dull pain in every muscle.

 

“Are you okay?” Her voice changed, concern becoming apparent.

 

“Fine,” muttered Gabriel. Jack was the one with the issues. If he was this tired and sore all the time, what the fuck was he doing out in the field? He could get himself killed.

 

The kid shrugged. “Food’s in the mess hall. You know where to find us.”

 

She wandered away, sneakers squeaking against the floor.

 

After a long moment where Gabriel watched her leave, he slowly got up. The weight on his feet was strange. Movement was jerky, too real. He was so used to almost gliding, a halfway point between walking and floating. His own body was comfortably transparent around the edges, still not fully opaque even in the center of his chest. Jack had always been more solid, more square than he was, but this brought a new meaning to the words. 

 

It took walking face-first into a wall for him to remember that he didn’t have his powers. There was no easy sliding through barriers in Jack’s body. His clothes were slowly beginning to irritate Gabriel, too. The shoes were chafing against his feet, glove fingers just slightly too small. Almost obsessively, Gabriel kept pushing the small spaces between the glove fingers down to touch his hand, waiting for the glove to ride up so that he could do it again.

 

How was this possible? What had done this? Was he going to wake up and find that this had been a particularly disturbing dream? Considering he’d traveled back in fucking time to stare himself in the face, he somehow doubted it. Things just got weirder and weirder. Gabriel made a mental note to request some non-Overwatch missions from Talon for a while. After all, it had only been interacting with the group that had forced him into these stupid situations.

 

Gabriel reached the leisure block and made his way up to the barracks. He remembered enough of the layout of these bases. They were all the same. The challenge was figuring out which one was Jack’s.

 

He stopped in the middle of a hall, listening to the murmurs of echoed talk from the mess hall and trying to think like Jack. He’d want a room to himself. Jack had always liked his privacy. He’d stay away from the rooms closer to the younger Overwatch members, but he’d also avoid confronting the original Overwatch members. Stalking down the hall, Gabriel made a guess at the rooms in the middle; only Jack would surround himself with people he didn’t know to find peace.

 

Knocking on a door, he opened it up to reveal a small room, plain save for a large box of pulse rifle ammunition opened on top of a tiny, scuffed wardrobe. A fair few rounds were missing from the box. He’d guessed correctly.

 

The room was clearly one of the older ones, patchy walls and worn floorboards giving away its age. A poorly-made bed sat in one corner and the aforementioned wardrobe was settled in another. Gabriel opened up another door into an adjacent bathroom, likely constructed on Jack’s request. The reflection staring back at him from the mirror was not his own, and Gabriel sighed, unzipping Jack’s jacket and pulling off those annoying gloves. He was struck, looking at Jack’s skin closely, at the amount of scar tissue hidden under his clothes. Gabriel had been too preoccupied to notice the night they had showered together, but pulling Jack’s shirt off now he saw the extent of the injuries he had caused to Overwatch’s golden boy.

 

“Not so picture perfect now,” Gabriel whispered to himself, running a hand over skin which had scarred terribly from the explosion. He could barely feel his own fingers touching his chest. On seeing Jack’s face he’d assumed that Jack had escaped the bomb unscathed. He realized now that he’d been wrong. 

 

Carefully, he undid the clasps on Jack’s mask again and set it down on the edge of the sink. The room around him blurred, changing into a mess of color. Gabriel raised a hand in front of his face. He could barely see fingers.

 

Gabriel gingerly leant against the sink, testing out the weight he’d forgotten how to use. He curled his hand into a slow fist, then uncurled it and gripped the lip of the sink. It cracked against his hand. Loosening his fingers, he touched the four dents where he’d broken it. Looking at it without the visor on yielded only a slightly darker grey on the sink’s usual pristine white.

 

He stared back at the mirror and blinked, picking up Jack’s visor again. The world refocused in reds and browns. Over the top of the scar tissue on Jack’s chest were four long scars, still scabbing in places. Gabriel traced his fingers over one, noticing the deep notch he had left in Jack’s skin. He felt nothing. Nerve endings completely destroyed. 

 

If Gabriel wasn’t in good condition, then Jack must be in disrepair. The lack of care towards Jack’s body was jarring; Gabriel remembered he used to make a habit of often showers, long rests and frequent meals. From the sounds Jack’s belly was making now and the weariness in his bones, none of the above had been practiced regularly for a long time.

 

There was a knock on the door, and Gabriel turned.

 

“76?” came McCree’s voice.

 

Absently pulling Jack’s coat on and zipping it up  over a bare chest, Gabriel opened the door. He was still wearing that grubby serape, this time over jeans and a checkered shirt. The kid offered a smile and a plate of food to Gabriel, stepping inside uninvited.

 

“Thought I’d bring you something before it all goes,” he said, setting the plate down on top of the pulse munitions box and falling back on Jack’s bed. “Reinhardt and Hana’re making quick work of lunch."

 

The familiar feeling of guilt was starting to rise in his chest. How long had it been since he’d spoken to the kid? McCree thought he was dead. 

 

“What do you want?” 

 

“Just making sure you’re OK,” slurred McCree, his semi-faux accent mixing words together.

 

What had Jack been doing? McCree’s head was usually so far up his own ass that he couldn’t even hear anyone else. For the cowboy to be concerned, Jack must have some serious issues.

 

“I’m fine,” Gabriel answered. He didn’t know enough about the situation to respond with anything else.

 

McCree laughed. “Oh, I’m sure y’are. But I only see you out of this room for training or missions. You’re not talking to any of us, I ain’t never seen you eat, and you won’t let Mercy anywhere near you. I know you got your biotic field, but there’s a fuckin’ limit. If I’m honest, it just seems like you’re avoiding us.”

 

Pausing, Gabriel stared at McCree as he lit a cigar, too casual. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? What was Jack doing?

 

“Y’don’t have to pull this lone wolf act. Gabe was far better at it than you ever were.”

 

Gabriel stiffened. Looked away. He heard another laugh rumble in McCree’s chest, amused at his reaction.

 

Of course they knew. They recognised Jack, remembered him from the past. It wouldn’t have been that hard to figure out. Did they know who Gabriel was too?

 

“Who told you?” he asked stiffly, hoping McCree had worked it out for himself.

 

The kid sat up. “Listen, Jack. I might not be smart, but I sure as hell ain’t dumb. You’n Reaper changed something. After you left Gabe and Jack - ”

 

He stopped. Gabriel waited.

 

“Anyway,” he began again. “You don’t make it hard to figure out.”

 

“Jesse - ” Gabriel started.

 

McCree stood, giving him a strange look. “McCree’s fine. No-one calls me Jesse these days.” Almost tacked on to the sentence, unsaid, was an afterthought.  _ You never called me Jesse. _

 

Gabriel had started calling him by his first name after the kid had starting doing the same. It had become almost a joke between them, always jokingly affectionate. Mocking, a front to throw off the honest love and respect they held for one another.

 

Thinking about it now, the only other person who called him Jesse had been Genji. Jack had always used last names in professional situations. Even to Gabe. For a shameful moment Gabriel wondered if he’d ever bothered to learn Jesse’s first name.

 

“We got another callout. Something in the Overwatch database’s been formatted’n we’re going to check out the signal. You’re staying.”

 

Ah. So they’d detected Sombra’s work. “Why?”

 

“Mercy wants t’see you,” McCree said, opening the door to leave and revealing a sheepish Angela waiting in the hall.

 

“I apologise,” she said. “But I feared you wouldn’t come by any other means.”

 

Fuck’s sake. Gabriel had just wanted a moment to figure Jack out before setting out to find him. This was ridiculous. Jack needed to get his fucking life together and it was not Gabriel’s responsibility to assemble it for him.

 

“Have fun,” McCree said, picking up a few chips from the plate he’d brought and offering a wry smile as Gabriel was directed away.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back with more b-grade TV plots, this time a body swap. hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> talk to me about these old farts at sirenreyes.tumblr.com


End file.
